by Mia Archer
“What happened here?” Another voice said, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
The last thing I needed was Coach Anderson coming over and seeing what I’d done. Again I had visions of getting thrown off the squad. Visions of the one thing that had been good in my life, the one thing that gave me a sense of normalcy I’d never had before moving in with my grandma, might be gone.
“Brad was being a creeper,” Carrie said.
“Figures,” Angie said, glaring down at him. “He tried to grab my ass while we were doing a chair at the last practice. He was probably doing the same to Kirsten.”
“I overheard him trying to hit on her,” Sadie said. “He was talking about how he heard she lost her date last night at the shooting, and so he wanted to get in on that.”
“Why do you keep bothering the girls, man?” Dave asked. That was Angie’s partner.
I’d thought I was in deep shit when Coach Anderson came over, but her face grew into more and more of a thunderhead as she heard each new accusation.
I was grateful the squad had my back, but I still felt terrible about hurting Brad. He didn’t deserve that, even if he was an asshole. A slap, maybe, but I guess a slap from me was enough to break an arm now.
I really didn’t want to think about what that meant.
“On your feet Brad,” Coach said. “You’re in deep shit.”
“I’m in deep shit?” he yelled. “She broke my fucking arm!”
“Stop being so dramatic,” Coach said. “There’s no way Kirsten broke your arm with a slap. I saw it from across the gym. Get up and walk it off. We’re going to have a chat about your behavior.”
Only as I watched him writhing on the floor I knew I’d broken those bones. He needed to go to the hospital.
Coach didn’t know that, but I did. Because I was changing. My dad said it was the family legacy, but as far as I was concerned it was the family curse.
A hand landed on my shoulder. I turned to see Coach Anderson there, and I only just managed to stop from doing something terrible to her. I was already on edge, and having a strange hand landing on my shoulder wasn’t helping.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
“I don’t believe it,” she said.
“No, really,” I said. “I just need things to be normal, is all. And he…”
“He’ll be taken care of. In the meantime, if you want things to get back to normal… I don’t tolerate fighting on this squad!” she said, her voice loud enough that it echoed through the gym.
“Which means you all have to do laps before practice is over!”
There was a collective groan, but they gave me supportive smiles. Like they didn’t blame me that they were being forced to do those laps. I smiled back, grateful that they were giving me that support.
“Now let’s get to it,” Coach Anderson said, clapping her hands together.
I sighed, but fell in with everyone else to do laps around the gym. At least I could still run laps, which was more than I could say for Brad.
8
Kirsten
I rinsed off quickly after practice, not wanting to spend more time in the building than I had to, and stepped out to get dressed.
When I stepped out, though, I could tell something was different. The girls were staring at me while trying not to look like they were staring at me. I frowned, but went about business as usual.
The trouble was I couldn’t figure out whether I was getting those looks because of what’d happened at the movie theater, or because of what I’d done to Brad.
I was pretty sure they weren’t pissed off at me for making them do extra laps, at least.
I stepped up to my locker and started pulling on my civvy clothes. I still had another class to go to before the end of the day, and I was going to have to figure out a way to get around those reporters.
Something touched my shoulder. I whirled around, my hand coming up in an instinctive defensive gesture I’d learned from practicing it time and again with dear old dad.
“Whoa!” Angie said, holding her hands up in a defensive gesture. Her eyes went wide. “Are you sure you should be out right now if you’re acting like this?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, shrugging on my T-shirt.
“You’re not acting like someone who’s fine,” she said. “I’ve never seen you react like that!”
“So maybe I’m a little on edge,” I grunted. “What about it? I’ve had a hell of a day. Hell of a night last night, for that matter.”
“That’s exactly the point,” Angie said. “You have had a hell of a day. And a hell of a night. Why don’t you go home and have a rest? People who had a best friend’s second cousin within a mile of that theater last night are using it as an excuse to take some time off. You were right in the middle of it, and you’re here trying to pretend like everything is normal?”
“Everything is normal,” I grunted.
Everything had to be normal. Because if everything wasn’t normal… Well that would be an admission that my dad had been right. The last thing I wanted to admit was that my dad had been right about anything about me.
I was just a normal girl, leading a normal life, and doing my thing at college. I didn’t want anything to do with werewolves, monsters, or any of that bullshit.
“So can you tell me how you did that to Brad?” Sadie asked.
I squeezed my eyes shut again. The last thing I wanted was to give fighting advice.
“My dad was big on self-defense,” I said.
“You mean like carrying a gun with you?” Carrie asked.
“My God Carrie,” Angie hissed. “Would you shut up about what happened last night? She doesn’t want to talk about it!”
I hit Angie with a half grin. Those were big words coming from someone who’d just been bothering me about last night.
“I’m just curious,” Carrie said. “I never knew Kirsten was packing heat!”
She looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. It was a look I’d seen before.
There were two kinds of people when you talked about guns. There were the people who were morally opposed to guns for any reason, as though the world was magically going to become a peaceful place if guns didn’t exist or something, and there were the people who thought it was cool.
I mean sure, there were also gun nuts, but the less time I spent around them the better. That asshole the night before who’d done more damage than help came to mind.
“Are you packing right now?” Carrie asked, glancing down at my purse.
I was, as a matter of fact. I always carried. It’d been drilled into me time and again, but I figured I really needed that insurance after last night.
“No,” I said, reading the room and seeing the nervous glances from some of my fellow cheerleaders.
“Oh,” Carrie said, sounding disappointed. Though not for long. She perked right up, and totally ignored the acid looks Angie was hitting her with.
“So do you think you could teach me to do what you did to Brad today?” she asked. “Because that was awesome! It was like something out of a kung fu movie or something. You barely slapped him and then he was screaming about how you broke his arm.”
Again Carrie looked a little too excited. I frowned again and looked down at my hands.
Honestly I didn’t remember what I’d done. I’d sort of had an out of body experience where one moment I was getting pissed off, and the next he was on the ground.
I didn’t want to think about what was happening to me that I suddenly had the kind of strength that would let me, say, take on a werewolf one on one without breaking a sweat in a movie theater. Or give Brad a love tap that ended up snapping one of his bones.
“It was nothing,” I muttered. “Go take some self-defense classes or something if you’re interested in learning it for yourself.”
Carrie’s lip jutted out in a little pout, but she didn’t say anything else. Maybe the warning looks she was getting from Angie
were finally enough to get her to back down.
“Fine,” she said.
“You know, you never did tell me how your date ended last night,” Angie said. “Just that it didn’t go well.”
There must’ve been something about the look I gave her as she said it. She bit her lip, which was something she did when she realized she’d stepped in it.
“I shouldn’t have asked,” she said.
“To say the date didn’t go well would be an understatement,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” Carrie said, putting a hand on my shoulder, though I noticed the way she hesitated before putting that hand there.
“No need to be sorry,” I said. “If it was meant to be, then it was meant to be.”
If it was meant to be then there wouldn’t have been a fucking werewolf stepping into the middle of the date, for that matter.
“Did you think about sending her a text after she’s had a chance to process everything?” Carrie asked.
That earned her bemused looks from everyone in the locker room. She looked around defensively, and shrugged.
“What? Shared trauma can be a powerful bonding experience!”
I rolled my eyes, and Angie hit her on the shoulder.
“I really need to get going,” I said.
“Oh no you don’t,” Angie said, catching me by the arm before I could take more than a few steps towards the door.
I looked down at that arm, and thought about how it would be easy to use my newfound strength to force her to let go.
But I didn’t. Brad was an asshole who maybe deserved what he got, but not Angie. She was a good friend, and the last thing I wanted to do was accidentally maim a good friend.
“What?” I asked.
“You might be doing this whole tough girl routine,” she said. “But it doesn’t mean you have to go through all of this alone.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“We’re talking about you getting your drink on tonight!” Carrie said.
“Get my drink on?” I asked, frowning.
“Of course,” Angie said. “We’re having get together at the usual place with the usual suspects.”
“Oh,” I said, thinking about the usual parties they had at the usual place. It would be a who’s who of college athletics at our school.
“I don’t know, Angie,” I said.
The last thing I wanted to deal with was a bunch of drunks. I certainly didn’t want to get drunk. Not when there was a possibility there were more monsters lurking out there.
I didn’t think that was likely, but even a small chance was enough of a chance that I didn’t want to risk it.
“Oh no you don’t,” Angie said, shaking a finger at me. “You’re not getting away that easily. You’re the one who’s been bitching about how you want to get back to your normal life, and going out and getting shitfaced is getting back to your normal life!”
I sighed.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll make an appearance.”
“You’re going to make an appearance and get blackout drunk!” Carrie said, throwing her hands above her head.
I smiled and pulled her in for a hug.
“Thank you,” I said.
Carrie blinked in surprise. “For what?”
“For being your usual bubbly ridiculous self,” I said. “I needed that, and I didn’t even know it.”
“Oh. Well you’re welcome,” Carrie said.
I shouldered my gym bag and walked towards the exit. I was surprised to see Coach waiting for me down the hall.
I was terrified she was going to say something about Brad. Like I’d hurt him more than I thought. It was like that book I had to read in high school, A Separate Peace, where the asshole main character knocks a guy out of a tree and the guy, who didn’t do anything wrong, ends up dying by the end of the book.
Which had been unexpected. You read a literary type book about dogs in school and you expect the dog to bite it, but not a book about teenagers. Even if they were old timey teenagers.
“What’s up?” I asked, trying not to sound too nervous.
“I wanted to show you to a side entrance where you won’t have to worry about the vultures,” she said with a smile.
“Oh,” I said. “Um, thanks?”
“Don’t mention it!”
She turned and started towards a side corridor I’d never been down before, for all that I’d walked this hallway nearly every day of my college career. This new side hallway was all creepiness and exposed piping.
“Looks like something out of an old Freddy movie,” I said.
Coach let out a laugh. “Are you talking about the animatronic bear my kids are afraid of, or the guy with knives for hands who terrified me when I was a kid?”
“The guy with knives for hands, of course,” I said, shaking my head.
Of course both of those were based on real things. It hadn’t been very comforting as a young girl to watch the Nightmare on Elm Street movies and then have my dad explain that they were actually based on true events, and not just Wes Craven hearing about some kids suffering from PTSD after Vietnam or something like that dying in their sleep. No, we’re talking a full on monstrous pedophile, not child murderer, doing terrible things to kids in their sleep.
Until he’d been stopped.
And the animatronic Freddy? Well let’s just say I’d never be able to go into any establishment that had animatronic bands for friends’ birthday parties after I’d learned what that was based on.
“Good on you,” Coach said, smiling. “One of the first times I truly felt old was when I was having a conversation with my kids and they mentioned being terrified of Freddy. Imagine my surprise when it turns out they were talking about an animatronic bear that looks like a deformed muppet, and not the real Freddy.”
“I aim to please,” I said, forcing a smile.
Honestly I didn’t care to talk about anything that bordered on the realm of horror movies being based on real experiences. Even if Coach had no idea that those horror movies that’d scared her when she was younger were based on true stories.
“Here you go,” she said, opening a door onto a staircase that led up.
“I’ve never seen this before,” I said. “I didn’t even realize we’d gone below ground level.”
“There are lots of secret entrances around here if you know where to look,” Coach said. “And if you have a key to get in from the outside, which most don’t. Hopefully this helps you out. I don’t think any of the reporters have camped out on this side of the gym.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Hey,” Coach said, stopping me before I could head up the exposed metal stairs.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I know you’re probably going out partying tonight with all your friends, and I’m not going to try and stop you from living your life,” she said.
“Thanks?” I said.
“Just know that I’m also not going to put up with someone getting so blackout drunk and hung over that you can’t be a member of this squad. Got it? No drowning your sorrows in a bottle. You get the help you need if you need it.”
I barked out a laugh. I couldn’t help myself. It was such a Coach thing to do. Worrying about my well-being and mental health, but also projecting it through a lens of worrying about making sure she had enough warm bodies for the game tomorrow night.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll be there.”
I’d never been a big fan of getting blackout drunk to begin with, and I was pretty sure there was a good chance I wasn’t going to be able to get blackout drunk even if I wanted to with all the fun changes hitting me.
“Good girl,” she said, slapping me on the back. “You’re a tough one. You’ll make it through this.”
“Thanks,” I said, recognizing the awkward attempt at helping me out for what it was and deciding I wasn’t going to get annoyed.
I took the stairs up and found myself facing a small wooded area
on the back side of the practice gym. All the wooded areas running through campus were one of the things that’d helped me to fall in love with this campus back when I’d been doing tours and trying to decide which school I’d go to.
Only now I found a different instinct kicking in. Instincts that told me a wooded area like that would make a perfect hiding spot for someone who had claws and teeth and big tufts of fur.
I shivered, for all that the sun was overhead, and reminded myself that I had nothing to worry about in the daylight.
At least not from werewolves. There was danger from reporters, though. Like the one who stuck her head around the corner in the distance and started clicking towards me in heels that couldn’t be comfortable.
I squeezed my eyes shut and did a quick count to try and calm myself down. The last thing I needed was to pull a Brad with this woman. Or the other reporters who were appearing around the corner of the practice gym now that the first one had scented their prey.
I should’ve known better than to assume all entrances weren’t being watched.
I braced myself for a kind of combat that was very different from what I’d had to deal with fighting that werewolf the night before, but in some ways it was way more terrifying since I was less prepared for this than I was for dealing with a giant clawed monster.
9
Kirsten
“Excuse me!”
I stood there with my arms crossed. I hoped I was hitting this woman with a look that let her know exactly how unimpressed I was with her approach, but she kept right on approaching.
“Excuse me, Kirsten?” she asked, as though she didn’t know exactly who the fuck I was.
She stopped and stared at me, a recorder held out.
“You are Kirsten, correct?” she asked.
Again dad’s old advice came rushing back. Don’t talk to the press. Don’t give anything away. Don’t give them a quote they can twist.
So I kept my fucking mouth shut.
“I know you’re her,” she said, pulling out a picture that’d clearly been printed off of the little public facing social media I had and then photocopied a few times.
